I Found a Note on a Rose
I stood at the shore with the rose in my hand, feeling the weight of a story I would never fully know.
Somewhere beyond those locked gates,
a woman in a wheelchair had trusted the kindness of an unseen passerby more than the coldness of circumstance.
Her words were steady, not dramatic, but the depth of what she asked for trembled between each line.
As the rose touched the water and began its slow journey toward the center of the lake,
it felt like a promise being kept on her behalf. I watched until it became a small red dot against the widening ripples,
carrying her love to the place where her husband rested. Walking away, I realized how a quiet,
anonymous act can turn two strangers into brief companions in grief and grace, proving that love can still move where we cannot.
